


holes

by katierosefun, KCKenobi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Anakin Skywalker, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Lightsaber Battles, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Protective Anakin Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katierosefun/pseuds/katierosefun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KCKenobi/pseuds/KCKenobi
Summary: Marble and glass and blood trickling from the cuts and scrapes, and dust and dirt and sweat getting in his eyes—Obi-Wan couldn’t see anything except for a blur of red and blue light, and then—A flash of red, a choked cry.Anakin—[an invitation from Maul, a duel, and a sacrifice.]
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 28
Kudos: 306





	holes

“Another happy landing,” Obi-Wan muttered as the ship shuddered to a stop. 

“I think it actually was,” Anakin said cheerfully, taking his hands away from the console. He flashed a quick smile at Obi-Wan, and then, noticing his unimpressed look, Anakin huffed out a sigh. “It’s not like I _crashed_ this time—”

“ _This_ time—your flying is—” 

“Okay, then next time, _you_ fly.” 

The landing ramp creaked to the ground, and they stood. “Flying is for droids.”

As they stepped out into the open air of Mandalore, Obi-Wan’s smirk fell away. Sundari looked much the same—the glass highrises shone, leaves swirled from the trees, the sky shone blue like the eyes of someone Obi-Wan once knew. But it wasn’t the same at all—no, it was emptier. Duller. Hollow. For the first time, there was no one for him here.

He was jolted back to the present by an elbow to the chest.

“I thought you’d be a little more upbeat,” Anakin said. “We _are_ taking down your archnemesis, after all.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call dueling Maul my favorite pastime.” Obi-Wan was suddenly hyperaware of his lightsaber bumping against his hip. “Aren’t you a little _too_ cheerful?”

“Well,” Anakin said, giving Obi-Wan another crooked grin, “I _am_ about to save your life for the tenth time.” 

“Ninth,” Obi-Wan said automatically. And then, turning to Anakin, he said, “You have to come up with a better hobby.” 

“Saving your life seems like a good hobby.” 

Obi-Wan shook his head, but despite it all, he couldn’t help but feel something settle in him. Mandalore was cold, and the sky was dull, and nothing was the same at all, but Anakin was still at his side. 

“Well, _do_ try to pick up another hobby, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, just barely managing to lighten his voice. “Saving my life could be boring after so many times.” 

“Never,” Anakin replied. 

Obi-Wan felt his lips twitch into what could have turned into a smile, but that didn’t feel appropriate, given the circumstances. So he settled for placing a hand on Anakin’s shoulder once, just a brief touch—an acknowledgement and a warning—and then he turned back to the palace ahead. 

Obi-Wan tried not to remember—he focused on the light streaming in through stained glass, the echo of their footsteps through the endless corridor, the Force flowing through him as he prepared for the battle ahead. And as he drained himself of memories, of Satine and Qui-Gon and all those who had gone before, he knew somehow that _this was it._ There would be no next time. There would be no other chance. 

And then they turned the corner, and everything else faded away.

Maul stood in the throne room. Hands behind his back. Pacing, slowly, mechanical feet scraping across the marble floor. If he had heard Obi-Wan and Anakin walk into the throne room—and he _must_ have—he didn’t show it. 

But Obi-Wan noticed the slight twitch of Maul’s lips, and he knew that this was something he had been waiting for. And that was the difference, Obi-Wan knew—the only difference that mattered, because at the end of the day, Maul was the one who wanted and sought this chaos, while Obi-Wan wanted and sought to end it. 

“And so,” Maul said, his voice little more than a whisper—and yet also an echo—around the throne room. “We meet again at last.” He turned around fully then, his hands still clasped behind his back. Even though the room was dark, the throne itself was still bright, lighting Maul from behind in yellow and orange hues. Those lights had once seemed warm, but now Obi-Wan could only think of how wrong they seemed behind Maul. How those two elements clashed and collided and left behind an imprint of a different time in this same room. 

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, unhooking his lightsaber from his belt, “I grew tired of your constant invitations.” He activated his saber, heard Anakin do the same. “And I’ve decided to save you the trouble of sending me one more.” 

Maul just laughed—a sinister noise, a fragment from Obi-Wan’s nightmares long ago—before unclipping his own lightsaber. He ignited the blades, and red light spilled across the floor. _Like blood_. The thought came unbidden, and Obi-Wan blinked away the image of Satine on the ground, reaching out, saying his name—

“Well, then,” Maul said. “Welcome to the end.”

He raised his lightsaber, and Anakin and Obi-Wan surged forward.

And there was nothing but this—light, and the heat of their blades, the flurry of feints and parries and Anakin’s ragged breath mirroring his. Obi-Wan and Anakin moved in sync. Hours upon hours of training, of fighting side-by-side, of battles won without a word between them, had made them into a single mind, a warrior split in two. They met Maul stride for stride. Strike for strike.

Obi-Wan caught Anakin’s expression once in the blur and clash of red and blue light. Sheer determination, a fierce understanding that there were to be no more encounters with Maul after this—that anything else would not be allowed. 

Maul, as though sensing the agreement made between Anakin and Obi-Wan, pushed off their blades, launched himself backwards from the sheer force shared between all of them. “Impressive,” he said, breathing hard. “Developed more of a fight, I see.” Maul flourished his lightsaber, the blades’ red glow illuminating the sneer on his face. “But not enough.” 

Maul leapt forward, the ends of his lightsaber clashing against Anakin’s and Obi-Wan’s enough for both of them to take a half-step backwards. But only just. 

“Is he,” Anakin grunted from Obi-Wan’s left, “ _usually_ this chatty?” 

“It’s a flaw of his,” Obi-Wan managed to reply. He shoved at Maul’s saber, ducked to the side as Maul suddenly pulled away from Anakin’s side, drew his lightsaber in Obi-Wan’s direction— 

Obi-Wan pivoted, brought up his lightsaber in time to block Maul’s blow. “Come now,” Obi-Wan said, meeting Maul’s bright gaze, “I only speak the truth.” 

“ _Truth_ ,” Maul hissed. “You have been blind to the truth for _years_.” 

Obi-Wan saw movement out of the corner of his eye, saw Anakin leap up, his lightsaber ready to strike at Maul—

But then Maul pulled back, brought the other end of his lightsaber up in time to push back against Anakin’s blade. 

And Anakin stumbled.

Obi-Wan covered for him—blocked the strike that could’ve been fatal—but Maul pushed forward. Obi-Wan found himself nearing the window. Could tell by the stained-glass light on the floor that soon enough he’d be backed into a corner, unless—

“The Jedi think they know the Force,” Maul hissed, with a strike that rattled through Obi-Wan’s chest. “You think you understand the powers at play.”

Obi-Wan sliced toward Maul’s legs, but he blocked the blow. “We do not pretend to understand the great mystery. Only to seek it.”

Maul laughed. He pressed forward, and Obi-Wan felt his heel strike the wall.

“You don’t even know what you’re seeking. The downfall of the Republic, of the _galaxy,_ has been under your nose for years, and you have no idea.”

For a moment, Dooku’s words on Geonosis echoed through Obi-Wan’s head. “The Sith Lord. You speak of your old master.”

“No,” Maul said. “I speak of _your_ old _apprentice_.”

Maul brought his lightsaber down hard, and the blow pushed Obi-Wan back against the glass just as Anakin appeared at his side.

But Anakin faltered again. Not from the blow of a lightsaber.

From the blow of Maul’s words.

Obi-Wan tried to leap to safety, but he started off balance. He flew upward, twirling—no, tumbling—his lightsaber outstretched, until it struck glass.

The window shattered.

Shards split his hands, his face, his skin, and the wind was cold against his cheeks as Obi-Wan hit the floor.

And then he heard the sudden pounding of metal feet against the ground—the ground was shaking, but Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if that was from Maul’s steps or the fact that his ears were still ringing from the sudden disorientation of the throne room, but then he rolled over on his knee, brought up his saber just as he felt the heat of Maul’s saber come down. 

_ Too close—too close—  _

Obi-Wan grunted, shoved back at Maul, but Maul was pressing forward, the white light of their sabers too bright and burning— 

“All this time,” Maul said, his teeth bared. “Hiding amongst the Jedi. The _hero_ —and yet, not a hero at all. Not your beloved _Chosen One_.” 

Obi-Wan caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Saw Anakin start forward, but there was something flickering across Anakin’s face—even in the white light of the clashing lightsabers, Obi-Wan saw that uncertainty, the doubt. 

_ Stay focused _ , Obi-Wan thought. Begged. _Anakin. Stay focused._

“You know it’s true,” Maul whispered. “ _Anakin Skywalker_ , groomed from the _start_ to begin a new age of destruction, and the _Jedi_ have been blind to it _all_.” Maul pressed harder, and this time, Obi-Wan felt himself buckle under the sudden added weight. Sweat slid down the side of his face from the sudden heat, the exertion, but even more— 

_ Blind to it all _ . 

_ A new age of destruction.  _

Obi-Wan found Maul’s yellow eyes. A liar. Those influenced by the Dark lied and fed off the chaos of their own deception, and yet— 

_ The hero—and yet, not a hero at all _ — 

Obi-Wan’s blood ran cold. _How many times—how many times had there been..._ times when Obi-Wan couldn’t quite recognize the boy he had trained, times when Obi-Wan felt too distant from the person standing next to him, times when Obi-Wan would walk into an interrogation room only to discover that Anakin already had the answers and that the prisoner was still gasping for breath— 

_ Not a hero at all _ — 

And then Obi-Wan saw Anakin again, this time his face clearer. He saw that doubt again, the stunned expression written over his features, and _knew_ that this was what Maul intended. 

“ _No,”_ he hissed, and hurtled himself forward.

But he was unbalanced. Maul _knew_ he was unbalanced, and one swipe knocked Obi-Wan’s blade away. Obi-Wan tried again, but then Maul was pressing forward—forward and forward and forward—and Obi-Wan felt himself tiring. With each step backward, his feet seemed to drag more. His boots slipped on glass slivers, and he nearly didn’t catch himself. Until he felt the wind fierce against his back, and knew then that he was cornered—this time, backed up to the shattered window. To open air.

Maul struck. Obi-Wan blocked.

And then his foot slipped.

He managed to grab onto the edge—and though the ragged glass tore open his palms, he didn’t dare let go. Maul was staring down at him, cackling far above, and suddenly, Obi-Wan saw a flicker of memory. The glaring light of red ray shields. His lightsaber hurtling past him, lost forever. Qui-Gon’s blade far out of his reach. And Maul—his face, his horns, his eyes—perhaps the last thing he’d ever see. Both then and now, Obi-Wan held on, even wondering if he’d lost.

And now, all he could think of was Anakin.

Anakin, who he’d raised and guided and loved. Anakin, who had his back, who saved his life time after time again. Anakin, his Padawan, his brother, his best friend.

_ And I’m so sorry, my friend, to leave you this way. _

But just when he was certain the glass had ripped through the tendons in his hands, just when he thought Maul’s blade would come down on him before he could think to fight back, just when he was considering the irony of leaving Anakin the same way his own master had left him—

Anakin was there.

Standing in front of Obi-Wan, lightsaber pressed right against Maul’s. White light flared from where Anakin met Maul, white light that pulsed and grew as they pushed against each other. Obi-Wan heard Anakin’s uneven breaths—somehow, over the din of their lightsabers, Obi-Wan could detect that stutter in Anakin, even as he pushed back— 

And then Obi-Wan was weightless, and he caught only a blur of light and darkness as he was suddenly being brought up, forward, and then— 

Obi-Wan felt the breath get knocked out of his chest as he slammed back into a wall. He hit the floor, felt the cool marble under his hands. Marble and glass and blood trickling from the cuts and scrapes, and dust and dirt and sweat getting in his eyes—he couldn’t see anything except for a blur of red and blue light, and then—

A flash of red, a choked cry.

_ Anakin—  _

Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet, already calling out— 

_ Anakin—  _

And even though no sound came from Obi-Wan’s lips, he saw Anakin lift his eyes up, and even from across the room, Obi-Wan could see that faint wrinkle between Anakin’s brows, the strange, distant shine in his bright eyes. And then Obi-Wan saw that red blade still buried deep in Anakin’s abdomen, saw the way Anakin looked back down at the saber with a numbness that _didn’t belong_ — 

Obi-Wan staggered forward. _Anakin_ — 

And then Anakin lifted his head again, and Obi-Wan thought he saw Anakin’s lips move—they might have formed Obi-Wan’s name, he wasn’t sure, because then he saw something else on Anakin’s face: something painfully rare and yet so painfully familiar. 

Relief—relief that Obi-Wan had seen after a narrow escape or a just barely-won victory but—

_ He can’t be relieved now _ — _this wasn’t the time_ — 

And then Maul was stepping back, the blade withdrawing from Anakin— 

And Anakin was still looking at Obi-Wan, his lips still frozen in a half-formed name— 

When Anakin’s body fell to the ground, Obi-Wan knew a part of himself had fallen with it. 

The air was stale. Maul stood over Anakin, lowered his blade. And for the first time, he didn’t look rabid with rage—he looked _satisfied_. He stepped slowly, looking down on Anakin’s crumpled form and circling around it, his movements starkly calm in contrast to before.

And Obi-Wan realized he faced an impossible choice.

_ Anakin— _

He wanted to run. He wanted to crash to his knees, cradle the boy he’d raised, carry him to the ship and to safety and to home. He wanted to heal the hole in his chest, even if it meant pouring out his own life force, even if it meant trading his own life away. He wanted—no, he didn’t want—he _needed_ Anakin to be okay.

But Maul— _Maul—_

And then Obi-Wan was running. As he neared Maul, he felt like he was flying—his every footstep growing lighter, like a weakening heartbeat.

Their blades clashed.

Every strike of a lightsaber sent shocks through Obi-Wan’s spine, and with them, flickers of the past. _Slash._ Anakin’s first time on Coruscant, how he’d yelped at the sight of so many ships and speeders all at once. _Hiss._ Anakin laughing at dinner, milk shooting out of his nose. _Clash._ Anakin sparring with Ahsoka. _Leap._ Anakin’s hand on his shoulder. _Slice._ Anakin. _Slash._ Anakin, Anakin, Anakin—

When Obi-Wan dealt the wounding blow, he almost didn’t even realize it.

All he heard was what he knew was _supposed_ to be a blood-curdling scream. A scream that would probably send people with more merciful hearts to feel some shred of sympathy for Maul now, Maul, whose eyes were cloudy with pain as he staggered backwards, lightsaber still clutched in the grip of his dismembered hands. 

Obi-Wan twisted his lightsaber around in his wrist. Watched as Maul stumbled back one step, two. 

And yet, even with that pain-dazed face, Maul still pulled his lips back into a snarl. “Are you going to kill me now, Kenobi?” he hissed. He closed his eyes briefly, his breaths coming out in short pants. “You _want_ to—I can _feel_ it.” 

Obi-Wan only tightened his grip on his saber hilt as he took another step forward. As Maul took another step back. 

“Go on, then,” Maul breathed. “Deal the killing blow, Kenobi. I’ve done my deed. _I_ have prevented the inevitable. _I_ have—” 

Obi-Wan didn’t let Maul finish. He took a step forward, held his lightsaber just inches away from Maul’s throat. 

Maul stopped talking. 

“You,” Obi-Wan said, “have mere minutes to live with those injuries.” He flicked his eyes down to where Maul’s hands used to be. Knew that Maul’s body had to be working harder to keep itself functioning—knew that this sensation must have at least been somewhat familiar. “How long do you think you’ll last?” 

“It doesn’t matter how long I’ll last,” Maul replied. Under the glow of his saber, Obi-Wan could see just how chapped Maul’s lips were, the yellowing shade of his teeth. “I have...done my part. And now,” he added, his voice hoarser, weaker, “the rest will fall into place.” 

Maul stepped back once. Twice. Staggered before he turned, and Obi-Wan didn’t move to stop him.

And for a moment, he could only stand there—could only feel the rubble beneath the soles of his shoes, could only feel the bite of wind against his face, could only stand amid the wreckage, as his heart shattered like the glass.

Until finally—

“Anakin.”

And he was falling to his knees at his side. Rolling Anakin onto his back, catching Anakin’s head in his hands as it lolled—

“It’s over, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “Open your eyes. Please, open your eyes. We did it— _you_ did it. You—”

Nothing.

“Come on. You saved my life for the ninth time, like you said.” Obi-Wan’s voice grew higher in pitch. More desperate. “ _Tenth_ time—I’ll even give you Cato Neimoidia. You can brag about it now, just—”

Nothing.

He ran his fingers down Anakin’s face, wiped away the sweat that had long gone cold. Anakin’s chest shuddered once with a breath Obi-Wan couldn’t even hear. Eyes closed.

_ No, no _ —

_ Not like this—not again, this wasn’t supposed to—not Anakin, not— _

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice broke. “ _Please_.”

He didn’t know exactly what he was begging for—maybe for Anakin to open his eyes. To breathe in deeply, to sit again, for the hole in his middle to stitch itself up. For Anakin’s familiar smirk, for his insistence that this was the _tenth_ time, for his laughter and his love and his light.

For his life.

But there was nothing. Just stillness. Just an exhale.

And then no more.

Never more. 

Obi-Wan felt the choked cry more than heard it. Felt that jarring sharpness in his head, his chest as he slowly pushed his hands around Anakin’s shoulders, pushed Anakin up. Felt Anakin’s head fall forward, felt that weight that was both familiar and foreign because _this wasn’t how Anakin carried himself_ — _this wasn’t how Anakin was supposed to_ — 

Obi-Wan blinked once, twice as the world briefly blurred before him. Came back into focus, blurred again. 

His hands found purchase along Anakin’s back, and then Obi-Wan was leaning forward. He found Anakin’s shoulder. Just a few minutes ago, Obi-Wan had laid his hand there. As an acknowledgement and a warning. 

Anakin had been smiling then. That brief, ridiculously arrogant smile that had followed Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan had followed for more than ten years. 

Obi-Wan exhaled. 

He would have been happy with that smile by his side for another ten, twenty, thirty years. For decades and decades and decades, until Obi-Wan left first—because _he was supposed to leave first, that was how things were meant to be_ — 

Not like this— _never_ like this—not _Anakin_ —not when there was still so much more to be said and done between them. 

All of their next times and tomorrows, gone. 

He never could get his timing right. 

“You were my brother, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered against Anakin’s shoulder. As though those words could be enough to bring him back— _come back_. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and knew that those words wouldn’t be enough. But he heard himself say the next words anyways, because even if he had his timing wrong, he _had_ to say them now: “I loved you.” 

His words were only met with cold silence, made colder by Anakin’s absence. 

Obi-Wan lifted his head from Anakin’s shoulder. Looked at Anakin’s still face, his eyes still closed and lips just barely parted in a permanent exhalation of breath. Obi-Wan looked down then, saw that ugly, gaping wound still in his abdomen. 

“But I could not save you,” Obi-Wan whispered, and the world blurred before him again. _Forgive me, my friend._

He swallowed. Tried to stand up, found that he couldn’t—not right away, because the strength had seeped right out of him. 

Obi-Wan sat there for another moment, looked around at the shattered glass on the marble floor. They glittered less like glass and more like dew. Water glinting in the weakest of sunlight. 

He stood up slowly, his arms still supporting Anakin. Obi-Wan listed briefly, swayed under Anakin’s weight—but _he would not fall_ this time. 

Obi-Wan took one step down the throne room. Then another, and another, and another, until his steps were more so just desperate drags of his feet against the marble. A cold wind pushed past the doors of the palace when Obi-Wan finally staggered out. 

The ramp was still lowered to the ground, expectant. Waiting. 

Obi-Wan walked up. Felt the unevenness of their—no, _his_ , there wasn’t a _their_ —steps up the ramp, and then they— _he_ —was in the cockpit. 

Alone.

Obi-Wan stared. Anakin’s seat—no, the _pilot_ ’s seat—was turned toward him, spun around from when Anakin had sprung out of it just a short while ago.

He approached the co-pilot’s chair. Gently lowered Anakin down into it, felt the weight leave him, felt another weight on his shoulders all the same. Obi-Wan knelt down beside the chair, positioned Anakin upright, folded Anakin’s arms across his stomach so they covered the gaping hole there. That way he could imagine—he could pretend—

Obi-Wan stood and sank into the pilot’s chair as his face crumbled to a sob, and felt a hole growing deeper and wider and emptier in his own chest. And both of them were hollow.

He felt for the controls, nearly blind with tears. Tried to start the ship. It shuddered, but didn’t start.

And Obi-Wan fell back in his seat because it was like the ship _knew_ , it _knew_ he wasn’t the real pilot, it _knew_ that Anakin—Anakin was gone.

_ He’s gone. _

The words sank in.

_ He’s gone. _

Obi-Wan tried again for the controls, and when it still didn’t start, the sound he made was high and quiet and weak.

When at last they lifted off the ground, gravity and inertia pushing Obi-Wan down into his seat, he looked over. Anakin’s head was back against the headrest. His hair fell in his eyes. Obi-Wan could almost imagine he was asleep—could almost imagine Anakin was seventeen again, napping at his desk with homework as a pillow, and any moment his sleepy eyes would flutter open and he’d whine that Obi-Wan had woken him. But he was so still, too still. 

This time, Obi-Wan wouldn’t wake him. Couldn’t.

They left atmosphere, and he set course for Coruscant. And as he always had—as he’d thought he always _would_ —Obi-Wan flew home with Anakin beside him.

—

It took both too little and too much time for Coruscant to come into view. 

The planet was bright, innocently and ignorantly blinking up at the ship. Unchanged, unmoved by the chaos that happened star systems away. 

Obi-Wan blinked down at the lights, and then he had entered the atmosphere, and then he had signaled to his receivers, and then he had lowered the ship to the landing docks. 

For a moment, Obi-Wan could just sit. Look to the Temple. 

“We’re home,” he said into the empty air. 

He glanced over at Anakin. The light from outside cast only the slightest of shadows into the ship, and it seemed unfair that there were otherwise such gentle rays filtering through the viewscreen now. Making Anakin look as though he had just taken a nap. 

Obi-Wan brought a hand to Anakin’s shoulder—started to. Stopped. 

He pushed himself out of his seat. His steps were weighed down, reluctant as he walked out of the cockpit and into the small corridor. Slipped open the closet door, found a cloak. One of his own. (Anakin always joked that Obi-Wan needed an extra cloak. _You always lose yours_ , he would say. Which was why Anakin got Obi-Wan a cloak for his birthday.) 

Obi-Wan tugged the cloak away now, walked back into the cockpit. 

He stopped at Anakin’s side. 

Anakin’s face was free of any wrinkles or creases—he was always too young to look that way, anyways, but the war had aged everyone—and for the first time in years, he looked, simply, at ease. 

Obi-Wan gripped the cloak. _It wasn’t supposed to be like this_ — 

Before he could think better of it, Obi-Wan reached forward. Brushed back Anakin’s hair once. Let his hand linger. 

And then he settled the cloak over Anakin before the world could blur again. 

He was sure others were watching—he must have passed them, they must have _seen_ —but Obi-Wan didn’t look up. He took one step after another, each footstep echoing through the hall, his eyes trained on the cloak. On the shape of Anakin’s face beneath it. The Temple hum was merely background noise for the symphony of loss.

And then he was setting Anakin down—letting go of him, but not ever really letting go. The morgue was dark and cold, and he felt a hand on his arm, heard the buzz of someone else’s voice but couldn’t process the words. Because there was Anakin—still, cold, enfolded in Obi-Wan’s cloak.

And all Obi-Wan could do now was walk away.

He had to force himself to do it. He had to tear his eyes away, even though the sight was blurry anyway. He had to move one leg forward, even though his blood had turned to stone, his muscles to ash. 

The hallway was empty. Obi-Wan stood in the Temple, in his home.

But no. It wasn’t his home.

_ Anakin is. _

He couldn’t even correct himself, couldn’t even make himself think the thought in past tense. Because Anakin _is_ —he _is_ always in motion, always in flight, always doing and moving and looking to the future. But there was no future now.

Anakin would always be past tense.

Obi-Wan didn’t remember going back to his quarters. But suddenly he was stumbling into the living room, into the space they’d once shared. Anakin’s things were still everywhere—remnants of him on every surface. Mugs of half-drunk tea, droid parts Obi-Wan had always complained of him leaving around, a few model speeders left over from when he was a child, ones Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to bring himself to throw away. This place was never truly just Obi-Wan’s—it was _theirs_. It always had been.

Obi-Wan stood in the midst of it all, and joined the mess of other things Anakin had left behind.

He had to tell the Council. He had to tell _Padmé._ But then he’d have to _go_ , he’d have to face them, he’d have to feel their anguish in the Force when already his own was so thick and so smothering he feared he’d suffocate. 

But there was someone else—

He didn’t know if he could do it. But he _had_ to.

His hands trembled so badly he could barely punch in her com code.

But he did. Fingers slipping and wrist aching—he wasn’t sure why, but it did—and chest tightening, he managed to push the last key. 

For a moment, he thought that she wasn’t home. He almost hoped she wasn’t—

But then there was a crackle of sound, and then, “Coming!” 

He heard the dull crash of something in the background, a muttered swear, and Obi-Wan wondered if she had tripped over a droid part. He could imagine the messy room right now, could see those remnants of him so clearly because Obi-Wan had been in this particular room too, standing in this particular doorway and watching them talk and argue circles around each other. 

“I _swear he never_ —” 

And then the door slid open. 

She looked exasperated, and she was rubbing at her knee, where a bruise was already half-forming. But she was cheerful, her bright eyes dancing and face flushed from whatever it was she had been doing. 

But then she saw the look on Obi-Wan’s face, and Obi-Wan saw her brows furrow slightly together, saw the confusion on her face. 

Obi-Wan looked past her shoulder. Saw the familiar droid parts, half-drunk mugs of tea. And then he saw him—saw his smile and his eyes and his lips still forming Obi-Wan’s name. 

He focused back on her. 

She was still watching him. 

And Anakin was still gone. 

Obi-Wan felt the tightness in his chest snap. 

“Ahsoka?”

**Author's Note:**

> So here we are again! And thank goodness for that, because I had such a marvelous time writing this with Kasey, and am once again struck just by how grateful and fortunate I feel to have someone as talented and as funny and as kind as her to write a story with. This really started because of an anon who dropped this prompt into Kasey’s inbox, and Kasey messaged me right away going “uHHH are we doing this?” and I went, “oH MY GOD YES WE’RE DOING THIS”, and henceforth a whirlwind of about two days later, we completed the fic at like nearly 12:30/1 am and were just?? Feeling very raw, but in the best way possible. Writing this with Kasey was just extremely fun and amazing and filled with so many instances of crying and shouting at each other through the screen, and this was just an absolute blessing of a time. We hope that you enjoyed this too, even for all the pain this fic might have dealt. 
> 
> \--
> 
> When I first saw that prompt in my inbox, my first thought was, “Oh god please I’m so excited to write with Caroline again.” Because (and she’s probably tired of hearing me say this) it’s like magic—it’s like having another brain inside your head, and the words that come out are just—they’re magic. I’ve never cried while writing before, but there I was crying at my laptop screen, getting popcorn butter in my eyes, and just marveling over how grateful I am to write with someone so wonderful. This was joy, and it was pain, and it was magic. We hope you enjoy it (and that you don’t hate us too much!)


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